


How Come Indeed

by TheGoodDoctor



Series: Group Targets [12]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoodDoctor/pseuds/TheGoodDoctor
Summary: Being anonymous superheroes makes for some rather unique problems.





	

The Chief rubs his eyes in exasperation. “007, could you just stick to the brief? It honestly isn't that hard.”

007 thinks a rude gesture back at him, still not quite able to mould his thoughts into words instead of pictures. In retaliation, the Chief sends him a brief, sharp headache and gets the mental equivalent of a kicked puppy.

He can feel Q’s amusement in the link. “Darling,” the genius thinks affectionately, “it is actually important that you do as the Chief asks.”

The Chief feels 007 return to the original mission, sending waves of “since you asked so nicely” back to Q, and the Chief sighs. Exhausted from dealing with the precocious children that made up two-fifths of his team, he slips into the space behind M’s eyes. “Tiring you out?” M thinks amusedly.

“For some reason I had thought this would be easier.” He feels as if it was his own hand the cold of the glass as M presses his palm to the mirror and simply pushes through it. The Chief suppresses nausea as M runs along the curious brick walkways in the gloom, and if M doesn't reach the right mirror soon, he will be forced to cut the connection and return to his own mind, lest he lose it amongst the curious kingdom on the other side of the glass.

M leaps into the air and drops, feet first, into a glassy pool and the Chief feels the stomach lurch for both of them as they land on M’s feet in a bathroom not far from their destination. “Where are the others?” M thinks.

The Chief feels around for the silvery strings in his mind which connect him to the others. “007 is on the roof, Q is disabling the alarms now, and the Queen Bee is currently resisting the urge to kick through the window and sting them all.”

“If it's a mouthful, you can always just shorten it to Queen,” she suggests, with a warm undercurrent of amusement.

“Buzz off.” 

“Stop him before he kills again,” M thinks idly. The Chief commandeers one of M’s hands to flick himself in the face. “Ow. We made the ‘stop hitting yourself’ clause of this team for exactly this purpose.”

“True, but there isn't really a way that we can stop him,” Q replies.

The Chief thinks distinctly smug thoughts. “All right, then; move in.”

Flitting from mind to mind, the Chief oversees the whole operation; sees 007 use his inhuman strength and agility to deal with the guards, sees the Queen Bee smash through the window, beating her insect wings and laying about with poison-heeled stiletto shoes, sees Q use the distraction to move funds and wreak havoc while M makes it really quite clear to the businessman that his amoral and frequently illegal doings would not be tolerated. Then M moves to the local police station and sends an anonymous tip-off by writing on the mirror in the interrogation room in ketchup, because he's melodramatic that way, while 007 ties up the men, makes some stupid comment and is flown away by a winged lady singing Beyonce at 2000 feet.

The Chief directs her to a landing point not far from where 007 lives, although she doesn't know that, and then disconnects his mind from theirs. He goes to Q’s mind, looking through his eyes at his screen and pyjama-clad legs. “Night, Q,” he thinks amusedly and lets his thoughts go. He sees M safely back to his own bathroom and allows his thoughts to fall back into his own body.

Bill is aware, suddenly, that his body has cooled right down and locked up in his absence from it and he struggles to operate his own limbs again as he makes himself tea. Autumn is a bitch for his joints seizing up, but not as bad as summer; one out-of-body asthma attack and subsequent hospitalization was more than enough.

He leans against the kitchen counter and sips his tea, reminding his brain how to make his own body function again. Bill’s pleased with their work; charity has been donated to and funds unembezzelled and he's fairly sure the guy will get put away for this one. He watches the dawn break through the kitchen window, unconcerned by the possibility that they, too, could get put away for this one. He sighs; he can get a few hours sleep, and then he has to be up again for work, and his brain desperately needs more. Bill abandons his tea as a bad job and shuffles off to bed as the sunlight oozes like molten honey through his small apartment.

* * *

“Bill! There you are.” Gareth flags him down and drags him towards their favourite coffee shop. “Figured we could do this where there's good caffeine.”

“We are definitely supposed to do it in the office, though,” Bill says, smiling at his boss, who just waves a hand.

“I run the damn company, Bill, I can talk to my PA on the moon if I want to.”

“That might just be beyond even you, sir,” Bill says mildly as they cross the road.

Gareth hums. “I'll talk to NASA about sending something up to help. Hang on, aren't satellites basically giant mirrors?”

“I am sure, sir, that I have no idea what you mean by that, but whatever it is you intend to do I advise wholeheartedly against it,” Bill says with deliberate emphasis and Gareth unsuccessfully hides a grin.

Just then, as the door to the cafe opens, a man comes barrelling out and straight into Bill. “Careful, James,” he chides gently.

“Sorry, Bill,” James says, grinning. “Could have knocked you out there.”

“I don't doubt it,” Bill says. “Been in to see your boyfriend?”

James beams. “Yeah, he's great -” his face suddenly falls.

Bill takes him by the shoulders. “Gareth, go and join the queue. James, I give you special dispensation to tell him everything in order to save your relationship, okay?”

James pulls a face. “What if he freaks out? I don't want to lose him. And I can hardly tell him I've been flirting with Q all this time, can I?”

Bill frowns. “James, I am telepathic. Trust me when I tell you he will not freak out or dump you, and that the whole flirting thing will not come up, honestly.”

James nods. “I'll think about it.” 

Bill sighs. “Quickly, yeah?”

James nods again, claps him on the shoulder and heads out into the street. Bill goes inside and joins Gareth in the queue.

“Can't you just make these people move? I'm sure you, of all people, could  _ persuade _ them that they really want to go elsewhere.” Gareth sighs deeply.

Bill huffs and rolls his eyes at the young, dark-haired barista who takes their order. He appears to be suppressing laughter, though Gareth clearly has no idea why. “Go and grab a table before they all go,” Bill suggests, and Gareth meanders through the cafe to the back, picking up a newspaper on the way past.

“He seems very canny,” Q says.

“He has this way with words,” the Chief replies. “Don't panic, he doesn't know anything he shouldn't.”

Q hands him two coffees. “You should know, I suppose.”

Bill heads back to his boss and hands him a mug. “Look at this,” Gareth says, pointing at the newspaper. “That celebrity, Eve Moneypenny, has a tattoo no-one has noticed before of insect wings on her back and now it's a fashion phenomenon. How come that makes news, and not one of us ends up on the front page?”

Bill sips his coffee and stares out of the window to hide his smile. “How come indeed.”


End file.
